


False Sun

by KingMeghren



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Almost Plotless, Alternate Ending, Established Relationship, Everyone Leaves on the Helicopter, M/M, Mentions the Events of RE3 Remake, Not Beta Read, Spoilers if you Haven't Played or Seen the Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23634835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingMeghren/pseuds/KingMeghren
Summary: Minutes before the missile strike, Carlos hauls Nikolai onto the helicopter to flee with them to safety. With fatigue upon them, and low fuel, it makes sense to land when they can, and take a night of rest in a nearby cabin, far beyond the outskirts of the ruined Raccoon City.
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	False Sun

“We’ve got to land soon.” Carlos said quietly, speaking into the headset that he still wore. Part of him wanted to be stubborn and throw the thing away, to use the ones that were supplied with the helicopter. But this was already set up, and he didn’t want to waste time readying his communications. He gestured anyway, with a momentarily free hand, just to make sure that Nikolai understood the message.

They were all exhausted. Evident enough in the way he screwed his eyes shut painfully before opening them as wide as he could. An overt blink just to keep him awake a little longer. Jill’s soft snoring hadn’t helped the journey, and Nikolai’s bored yawns were worse. This would at least give him something to do; looking for a clearing to land in even when the sun was close to vanishing upon the horizon. They didn’t want to die now from a crashed helicopter after the events that had just transpired.

It wasn’t ideal, the fuel situation, but the helicopter hadn’t been full when they had left. And, of course, Nikolai hadn’t told them where he had been planning to go after he left them both to die. Rather, when he had left Jill to perish, because he had offered a seat to Carlos before. When he had the upper hand, if only for a few moments less than he would argue.

Carlos had rejected him. Valiant in all his efforts; he tried to get the vaccine from him, he tried to get him to surrender, he tried to get all three of them on the helicopter out of there. Granted he had succeeded at that last part. Somehow. Not that Jill had been thrilled about it. He’d need to explain it to her afterwards; to explain why he had saved the idiot who destroyed the vaccine; their only hope of saving Raccoon City.

“Here’s a clearing,” Nikolai says, pointing to the half-folded map in hand, stained with bloodied fingerprints, “a bit further north, I think.”

“We’ve got enough left in the tank.” Carlos nods, gentle as he shifts the helicopter. Jill grunts in her slumber, a wonder she managed to sleep after such an event, but neither man was willing to wake her. For entirely different reasons; Carlos actually wanted her to get some rest, and Nikolai simply didn’t want to be thrown from the helicopter by the wrath of a woman so recently arisen.

Nikolai folds the map awkwardly, just so that it’s easier to handle, and holds it aloft for Carlos to follow. Everything is different now. Before it would have been easier, joking with the rest of the platoon, knowing that they were out there to do something good, to rescue those who needed help. Carlos had never had his opinion changed on something so fast in his entire life; and he didn’t know if he was the only one who hadn’t known about Umbrella’s plans. Nikolai’s plans. Because as sure as shit the man hadn’t told them anything yet.

“There’s a little cabin.” Nikolai gestures, leaning further towards the window to get a better look. The clearing was just about big enough that they could land safely, a few broken twigs aside.

“Planning on sticking around?” Carlos hums. It’s an empty question, but it’s said with a limp smile all the same. He doesn’t even know why he’s being so calm about this, why he’s acting as if the last few days didn’t actually happen. Nikolai betrayed them, Nikolai tried to kill Jill, and yet, Nikolai waited for him on that helipad. A selfish chance to flee a doomed city. Perhaps if he had sacrificed Jill, left with Nikolai, he could have saved the city; the vaccine was still intact then. It wasn’t worth the thought.

Nikolai offers him a tired smile in return, thwapping him with the map, and then straightening out the creases. He looked paler than he should, too much blood lost that the helicopter had taken to stinking of copper. Jill had taken the bullet out, taken a lot of pleasure in doing it as well. Mid-flight, roughly, prodding him without care, digging into the open wound and no doubt scarring him beyond what was deemed necessary. Carlos had to fly the helicopter, after all. And there was some petty revenge to be taken, he wouldn’t deny her that.

He would live through it, or, live long enough that the wound wouldn’t be his cause of death. Nikolai had really thought she wouldn’t take the shot. He’d been wrong about that. Wrong about Carlos too, but he couldn’t blame him. Those bridges were aflame just as the city, and they had both ignited the ends.

“Do we have enough fuel to take off when we land?” Nikolai asks, watching as Carlos slowly began the descent. The other man can’t help the slight tremor that echoes across his features; the hint of anger, of disappointment.

“I doubt it.” Carlos whispers, looking back at Jill, making sure she wasn’t too ruffled in the back. He can’t look at Nikolai, he’s too annoyed for that. Some part of him hoped that he wouldn’t take the first chance to flee, the first chance to go running off to whoever had bought his pride. He had offered Carlos a seat, and that opportunity, along with whatever thought it came from, had passed.

“We’re still close to the city.” Nikolai gestured to the faint glow in the distance, a false sun upon the horizon. They had all read the reports of the strange murders that were further and further away from the city. There was always a chance that something foul had survived Raccoon City just as they had. A lucky corpse who somehow shambled through thickets of forest and ended up at a lonely cabin.

Carlos nods in understanding, jolting in his seat as the helicopter touches ground. For a moment they’re all still. Listening to the sound of Jill’s slumbering breath, of the sprinkle of beginning rain, of nocturnal birds calling out amidst their morning. It was a chorus a world away from Raccoon City. Away from the groans of the undead, the howling bellows of Nemesis, the song of flames and drifting cinders. Peaceful.

“How many bullets do you have?” Nikolai asks, his voice barely a breath away from noise.

“Enough.” Carlos shrugs, unclipping the ammunition to check, before slotting it back inside. There could be a warzone beyond those trees just waiting to fall upon them, and they wouldn’t know until it was too late.

“Let’s hope nobody’s home.” He grins, gesturing to the cabin outside. With a grunt Nikolai stands from his seat, a hand pressed to his aching shoulder. Carlos reaches for him without thinking, his fingers brushing against his wrist, a gentler touch than he deserved. Both of them stop, frozen in time for just a second. Things had changed, Carlos reminded himself, letting go of the other man. Nikolai lingers for a moment more, and reaches back with familiarity; a soft pat to Carlos’ shoulder, for a flight well done.

With a loud huff he pulls the torch from its place and presses it against his stomach. Hiding the beam of light, he checks if it actually works without shining the thing so brazenly into the woods around. A click on, a click off, and a nod to his pilot. Carlos checks his ammunition once more, and with his safety off, he nods in return. The door is slid open as quietly as possible, and shut behind them; leaving Jill in the helicopter for just a moment.

They sweep the area quietly, torch held in Nikolai’s working arm, ready to highlight at a moment’s notice. He didn’t have his gun; they would be mad to give it him back. But, even as injured as he was, he could still bludgeon an undead corpse to death again if he needed to. Both men work efficiently, just as they always had done in the U.B.C.S, and they’re back at the helicopter before Jill awakes. He flicks the safety of his gun back on, slinging it onto his back before pulling the helicopter door open.

Carlos carries her in, hoisting her up into his arms and letting Nikolai open and close the doors along the way. She’s remarkably light, and she’s thoroughly exhausted. Fighting against the infection must have taken it out of her, even if fighting the mutated Nemesis hadn’t done so already. Braver than both of them, he thinks, braver than anyone he knew. She mumbles his name when he sets her down in one of the bedrooms, drowsy and half-asleep, placated with his soft murmurs of safety. Nikolai raises an eyebrow at her words, glancing the other man up and down for a moment. He grunts as he leaves the room, offering a half wave, hardly wishing to watch him coo over the sleeping woman.

Carlos is gentle as he removes her holsters and boots, setting them to one side and shutting the door behind him as softly as he can. He thinks he should have left a note or something, just so she wouldn’t be spooked when she finally awoke in an unfamiliar place. Still, he didn’t want to wake her by rummaging around any more than he already had.

It’s a nice enough little cabin, if not a little dusty and affected by the scattering of more than a few insects. The lights still work, and they’re confident enough to switch them on dimly. Though only after they’ve closed all the blinds and curtains, and locked and barricaded the doors. Nikolai argues that the lights and sounds from the helicopter would have attracted whatever might be out there, if anything, turning on a few things now wouldn’t do any more harm than already done.

Neither of them could guess what it was for, most likely a vacation home to be rented out during the nicer months. All the pictures that were around the room were of animals or landscapes, prints of paintings of what was probably the surrounding area. Cosy. Even the fire was still stocked with half-burnt coal. Most likely abandoned and unrented following the recent cultish murders that had taken place in the nearby city.

Nikolai is rummaging one-handed through the cupboards when Carlos returns, a few sets of cans set out, packets of twiglets and pretzels; a small feast of food that he knows Nikolai dislikes. He grunts at a tin of hotdogs, thumbing at the label with a defeated sigh. Bad food and snacks, nothing he really wanted to eat.

“Let me.” Carlos says, chewing the inside of his cheek to stop the grin from taking his lips. “It’s my turn.” He adds, gently prying the tin from Nikolai’s hand. Carlos clears his throat awkwardly. It was too easy to fall back into before all of this; the only reminders of what had happened were the bruises and cuts they both wore. The memories of their last dinner, however, were fresh at the forefront of his mind. Rich and delicious, traditionally Russian; because Nikolai campaigned that Russian food was naturally the best, far better than what Umbrella always served them. And his skills as a chef proved that, at least it dd on the few times that they were able to spend the night together.

There was pleasure to be found in not eating like a soldier. Not eating those miserable little meals they had to survive on, and instead dining like kings. Expensive kings, all too reiterated and reinforced in Carlos’ mind by the other man’s recent greed. They had taken turns cooking, hidden away from the rest of their platoon, the rest of Umbrella, small moments stolen away when they knew nobody else was looking.

Hell, they had even kissed moments before they had separated in Raccoon City. Carlos and Tyrell were to take an injured Mikhail back to the subway station, and Nikolai stayed behind when the rest of them; he had wished him luck, and kissed him farewell when no eyes were upon them.

It had been a surprise at the time, Carlos couldn’t help but see it as a farewell, the kiss of a man who knew he was going to die. But Nikolai had sent him away, placated and distracted him with a touch of his lips. Tyrell was already taking Mikhail back, Carlos didn’t need to go; but Nikolai needed to be undisturbed and unseen when he locked those gates, when he left that platoon to perish. His ambush already set in motion.

“Anything but those.” Nikolai hums after a moment, gentle in his features, turning his nose up at the hotdogs. He grunts as he settles on the plush couch, ignoring how his clothes were covered in grime and blood, no doubt smearing and staining the fine leather. There was half a mind to go and look for different clothes in the cabin, to get into something a bit warmer than the slightly rain-soaked uniform they both wore. Yet, he resigned to sitting in his Umbrella branded vest, stained with blood and bearing the all too familiar ache of a partially patched bullet wound.

He manages, with some grace, to get out of the black vest after a moment of discomfort. Sneering at the pain, but getting through it all the same. Relief washes over him as he leans back, shifting his weight forward. He lifts one leg to curl into his chest, his boot leaving crumbs of mud across the leather, and lets the other rest under the oak coffee table. To fall asleep now would be a mistake, he knew that Jill didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust her even if she was sleeping in the room nearby.

The sounds of Carlos’ mutterings in the kitchen keep him awake, the clatter of plates and utensils, the smell of cooking food. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that he’s not trapped in a small cabin somewhat out of Raccoon City, that Jill Valentine isn’t in a room down the hall, and the millions he was promised were in fact trickling into his pockets at this very moment.

“Hey, you still awake?” Carlos nudges him as he settles down beside him, a bowl of steaming soup in hand. He raises his eyebrows and nods to the other bowl, letting Nikolai grab it himself. It’s better than what he had expected, though, still somewhat awful to swallow down.

They eat in reasonable silence, listening to the weather outside, checking the doors every so often. Both men were nervous, both men were tired, both men were sitting too close to one another as they leant back and forth to reach for their drinks. Their knees bumped at first, something they had learnt to avoid in public areas, yet, neither flinched when it happened in private. And then, as Nikolai collected their bowls to deposit in the kitchen, returning to sit even closer to Carlos than before. If only to avoid the mud and gore he had left behind.

But it was romantic nonetheless.

Nikolai sits as awkwardly as he always does, never with two feet planted on the ground, half slouched, arm spread over the back of the sofa. There’s no hesitance as he leans his head back, a grunt escaping his lungs as he resituates himself. Carlos lets the man spread himself out, leans into it subconsciously, and lets himself relax for a few moments at the end of a bloody awful couple of days.

“We should get some rest.” Carlos says quietly, jolting himself awake once more. There was a temptation to simply fall asleep where he sat, half-pressed into Nikolai’s uninjured side; to add to his recollection of fonder memories. He stands unsteadily, assisted by the other man’s hand gently gripping the back of his waist, and is lead to his room for the night.

The cabin only had two rooms, of course, it wasn’t as if they could choose to land at a hotel that could house them all separately. It was only common sense that Jill took a room to herself, even if she didn’t know about the brief past the two men shared. She wouldn’t know either, Carlos reminded himself, there was no need to talk about it. He strips of his gear efficiently enough, leaving it just at hand on one side of the bed. His boots are quick to go, toes free and wiggling in thick cotton socks, a sigh of relief escaping his lungs.

With a groan, Nikolai manages to tug his shirt over his head, throwing it on the end of the bed and staggering over to the small adjoining bathroom. He had bandaged himself up in the helicopter; Jill wasn’t going to assist him in his recovery even if Carlos had thrown her a specific look. Shirtless and cast in the bright bathroom light, it’s easy to see the bruising that had formed over the last hour. Purples and blues smattering his chest, the stain of red under a poorly applied bandage. Carlos had punched him in the face, and all his muscle wasn’t exactly for show. He had felt his teeth rattle when that connected.

Carlos doesn’t look any better when he enters behind him, a little green medical box in hand. They can both clearly see the outline of Nikolai’s bite mark on his forearm, not enough to break through the flesh, but enough to leave a ring of blue upon his skin. It had mostly been reacting to the bullet ripping into him; for he had felt the air shift before Jill had fired, and it was then too late to escape; try as he might have done.

Nikolai lets the other man peel away his bandages, screwing them up and tossing them into the waste bin to one side. He is quick to wash the wound as best he can, with wipes and a first aid spray, then a patch and medical tape to cover it up afterwards, to offer a set of pills to swallow dryly to numb his pain. It’s all done with efficiency, the kind needed for the job that they both did. Only, Nikolai reaches for those fingers tentatively, holding them against his wounded chest. Unwilling to let the other man go.

He stares at Carlos in the mirror’s reflection, watching the other man’s response without actually watching him. They were both tired, exhausted. And both had survived the horrors of Raccoon City, even if one had relished in it with the promise of wealth at the end.

“Nikolai.” Carlos whispers, capturing his attention with a single breath. It would be a bad decision. A bad decision to do anything right now; to stand on that burning bridge until they fell into the depths below. Yet, the bridge held warmth, and it seemed that both men were willing to run the lengths of a decaying path for just a few moments more together.

“I lied,” He confesses, licking dry lips, leaning closer now, “before, when I said that I would have let you die.” On that helipad, with a gun in his face, and Carlos’ sorrow ticking away at those few minutes before the missile would be launched. He had told him that money was worth more than him, that he would take coin over Carlos himself. The words had risen a bile in his throat, and instead he had offered him a seat in that helicopter; promises of survival, a way out. Carlos could work alongside him, taking down Umbrella, surely the man wanted for that.

“I figured.” He laughs softly, a smile pulling at his lips; fatigued just as he was. “A cold, cruel, Carlos-less world? You couldn’t survive that.” The step forward he takes is minuscule, but enough to press them closer together, enough that Carlos has to raise a hand through his hair just so it doesn’t brush against Nikolai’s cheeks.

“Your ego is astounding.” He snorts, leading himself closer. The tip of his nose is the first to connect, pressing against Carlos’ cheekbone, leaning into a kiss like they were frightened first-time teenagers. There was still time to say no, to stop everything that was happening before it began. But both men were silent save their heavier breathing, silent save the lips that met tentatively. The barest press between them, but enough to open the barriers that kept them apart.

They kissed with a renounced vigour. With lips and teeth and tongue. As if their fatigue melted away with each strip of skin that connected. Carlos’ hands stay the length of him, travelling over uninjured flesh and leaving scratches of callouses in their wake. He kisses across Nikolai’s unshaven jaw, the bite of stubble pricking him at each turn. It’s a soft pain he’s eager to endure, biting back with teeth and moans, tasting the past day upon the other man’s skin.

Carlos pushes Nikolai up against the counter beside the sink, gesturing with squeezing palms upon clothed thighs for the man to sit upon it. He does so without complaint. Even as the mirror behind him chills against his upper back; the cold nothing to compare to the heat that lingers in Carlos’ palms. He settles between Nikolai’s spread thighs, pushing them open with wide palms, finding a familiar seat betwixt the other man.

Nikolai captures his kiss again, pushing forward with his hips, perching himself on the edge of the counter. His shoulder still aches, though the numbness begins to fade with each second that passes. It burned with each movement, and left him one-handed in his ministrations. Though he gripped and pulled, tugged at Carlos’ hair, at the fabric of his shirt, at the muscles that were carved beneath. All too eager to wash away the last few days, to foolishly bring them back to the point of before.

The sound of a buckle being unclasped echoes in the small bathroom, the sound of leather holsters discarded against the floor, of dirtied boots squeaking against clean tiles. Carlos murmurs sweet nothings against Nikolai’s neck, biting bruises from other wounds, fingers digging into the waistband of his trousers before tugging them down roughly. The chill of the counter beneath him causes him to jolt up, a gasp at half-freezing granite against his arse.

Apologies are whispered against his neck, hands curled around his hips, stroking the skin to build a warmth to them. Nails bite into him, palms squeezing against the muscle he held upon his thighs. Carlos pulls at the gloves he still wears, tugging them off with his teeth whilst his other hand trails down Nikolai’s chest.

He can see himself in the mirror, over Nikolai’s shoulder. His hair damp from rain and sweat, blood across his forehead, a split lip numbed by painkillers; cheeks reddened with arousal. Part of him feels embarrassed for it; though he knows the other man looks just the same. Even if he was wearing a grin, brows raised, his mind turning because he knew exactly what Carlos was looking at. Nikolai curses swiftly when a hand is curled around his cock, his head thrown back against the mirror behind, fingers gripping the edge he sat upon. It falters his grin at the very least.

“Carlos.” He breathes, tugging at the other man’s trousers. A soft and rushed hum falls from his lips, an answer to his question; Carlos’ frees himself from the confines of his clothing, hitching his shirt up and around his neck, and his trousers down to his knees. They both groan as they press themselves together, from chest to groin aligned in the sweetest way possible.

They rut together slowly with wandering hands and open-mouthed kisses. Letting their moans be swallowed up in the sounds of the light storm outside. Neither care about recent events, about the woman down the hall, nothing matters to them but the moment they reside in right now. It was sweet, delectable, pleasurable in the same way that shaky exhausted morning fucks were.

Carlos tugs the other man so that he stands awkwardly on his tiptoes, half perched on the edge of the counter. It’s a better position, their half-worn uniforms not as restrictive now, letting them thrust harder. His hands find Nikolai’s hips, fingers digging in to the swell of his arse, grunting against his neck as he bites and tongues at paler skin. He drinks in his heavy accent, the way he murmurs in Russian to urge Carlos further and faster. Words he knows because he has heard them time and time again. They kiss again, muffling themselves against one another, biting at lips and tongues, a hand encircling both of their cocks.

Their names are whispered again, between open mouths and tasted upon each other’s lips, echoed between grunts of pleasure and barely concealed moans. Divine, more than anything. Nikolai winds his fingers into Carlos’ shirt, pulling them closer together, kissing him with a ferocity that ignites their pleasure. He leads with his hips rolling, thighs twitching, forcing them higher in their euphoria. A desperation led by pleasure and found only with passion.

They come with shouts muffled in each other’s voices, hardly hidden by the weather outside, and their care for such a thing is minimal in their intimacy. Hands wander and caress as their thighs begin to ache, over new bruises of unfamiliar wounds, as Nikolai is given room enough to set his feet upon the ground properly, as their minds begin to come back to them. Nikolai leans into the kisses that Carlos grants him, holding him tightly, twitching when a wet rag is brought between them, a gentle wipe to clean up the evidence of their tryst.

Idly they tuck themselves away, holsters left abandoned upon the floor, a sliver of something coming between them. Carlos felt guilty, as if he’d betrayed someone by doing this, and it wasn’t so simple to be washed away under another kiss between them. He rights his shirts as a way to step away, and feels worse for the look of rejection that sours Nikolai’s face.

“We should get some rest.” Nikolai offers, nodding towards the open door, trying to keep things amicable between them. They would have to look over maps in the morning, to see if they could fly from the forest, or if they would have to walk out. And Jill would have to be spoken to; Nikolai half hoped she had heard them, just so he could smirk at her from across the room tomorrow morning.

The thought is forgotten, however, on the gentle kiss of Carlos’ lips, a promise of a somewhat sweeter night despite the lingering flames that was Raccoon City. Jill was not yet awake, and would not rise until the sun had awoken them all. And, until then, perhaps they could forget recent events and enjoy another night together; just until the false sun sets for the final time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Reading! :)


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